Sex Pistols and the Bromley Contingent on the local London TV-show ‚Thames Today‘

Grundy: I’m told that that group [he hits his leg with a sheaf of papers] have received £ 40’000 from a record company. Doesn’t that seem, er, slightly opposed to their anti-materialistic way of life?
Glen: No, the more the merrier.
Grundy: Really?
[During this first exchange the camera shot is confused by waving arms, hands passing cups of coffee etc. Matlock tries not to giggle.]
Glen: Oh yeah.
Grundy: Well, tell me more then.
Steve: We’ve fucking spent it, ain’t we?
Grundy: I don’t know. Have you?
Glen: Yeah. It’s all gone.
Grundy: Really? Good Lord? Now I want to know one thing …
Glen: What?
Grundy: . . . are you serious or are you just making me, trying to make me laugh?
Glen: No, it’s gone. Gone.
Grundy: Really?
Glen: Yeah.
Grundy: No, but I mean about what you’re doing.
Glen: Oh yeah.
Grundy: Are you serious?
Glen: Mmm.
Grundy: Beethoven, Mozart, Bach and Brahms have all died …
John: They’re all heroes of ours, ain’t they?
Grundy: Really? What? What were you saying sir?
John: They’re wonderful people.
Grundy: Are they?
John: Oh yesss! They really turn us on.
Grundy: Suppose they turn other people on?
John: [whispered] Well that’s just their tough shit.
Grundy: It’s what?
John: Nothing. A rude word. (Pauses.) Next question!
Grundy: No. No. What was the rude word?
John: [a schoolboy] Shit.
Grundy: Was it really? God, you frighten me to death.
John: Oh allright Siegfried …
Grundy: What about you girls behind?
Glen: He’s like yer Dad in‘ he, this geezer, or you Grandad?
Grundy: Are you worried or just enjoying yourself?
Siouxsie: Enjoying myself.
Grundy: Are you?
Siouxsie: Yeah.
Grundy: Ah, that’s what I thought you were doing.
Siouxsie: I’ve always wanted to meet you.
Grundy: Did you really?
Siouxsie: Yeah.
Grundy: We’ll meet afterwards, shall we?
[Siouxsie makes a moué.]
Steve: You dirty sod. You dirty old man.
Grundy: Well keep going chief, keep going. Go on, you’ve got another the seconds. Say something outrageous.
Steve: You dirty bastard.
Grundy: Go on, again.
Steve: You dirty fucker!
Grundy: What a clever boy!
Steve: You fucking rotter!
[More laughter from the band and fans; Grundy closes.]
Grundy: Well that’s it for tonight. The other rocker, Eamonn, I’m saying nothing else about him, will be back tomorrow. I’ll be seeing you soon. I hope l’ll not be seeing you [to the band] again. From me though, goodnight.
[Closing credits and perky signature tune: Lydon looks at his watch and Steve Jones gyrates his leather-clad hips.]